Five Times Jane Watched Lisbon Die
by lady of scarlet
Summary: And One Time He Didn't  - Exactly what the title suggests. Written for Mentalist Big Bang 2011. Friendship-Gen Fic with some Jane/Lisbon UST. Angst, major character death, hurt/comfort, violence, strategic fluff, and a reasonably happy ending.
1. One: Gunfire

**Rating:** FRM

**Warnings:** Angst, major character death, hurt/comfort, violence, strategically positioned fluff.

**Summary:** See title. Friendship-focused Gen Fic with some Jane/Lisbon UST thrown in for good measure. Jane POV.

**Word Count:** ~10,300 total

**A/N:** Written for Mentalist Big Bang 2011 at mentalist_bb on LJ. Huge thanks to **aprilvolition** and **oroburos69** for betaing, and extra huge thanks again to **aprilvolition** for the beautiful and encouraging artwork (which can be viewed on my LJ under the same username)!

I couldn't help myself. Angsty character death is just too tempting. Comments and (especially) concrit will be gratefully embraced; I'm always looking to improve.

I may be cruel, but I do promise a reasonably happy ending.

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, just playing with them.

…

**One: Gunfire**

Jane hated guns.

_Hated_ them.

Why did there always have to be guns?

Shots popped in the air around them, over and over again. Surely they had to have run out of bullets by now. No one could carry that much ammo. Well, no one other than Lisbon, perhaps. But she was the exception to many rules. Even caught completely unprepared, in the crossfire of an impromptu shootout, she had managed to dig a gun out of the glove compartment and another from an ankle holster while dragging him to safety.

The sharp noise continued to assault his ears as Lisbon crouched beside him, her hand weighing on his back, urging him closer to the ground—as though he was going to do something as profoundly stupid as standing up right now.

Jagged little pebbles on the road dug into his palms as he tried to stabilize himself and remain tucked carefully behind the back tire of the SUV.

He couldn't see anything on the other side of the vehicle, but now was not the time for curiosity to get the best of him. No, definitely not. He would not succumb.

Just as Jane was about to attempt a covert peek past the bumper, another explosive storm of bullets changed his mind.

He pressed himself closer to the dusty tire.

Jane's heart raced, adding to the deafening pounding in his ears. He could hardly hear Lisbon, even though she was shouting into her phone only inches away.

It was going to be okay, though.

Lisbon was in her element.

She could handle things like this. As soon as some backup arrived, she'd have the situation under control. They could go back to the office and he could make some tea and lie on his couch like this day had never gone from bad to worse to incomprehensibly awful.

Jane tried to calm his nerves, but his stomach kept twisting traitorously. He'd be of no use to anybody if he didn't get a hold of himself.

Finally, there was a lull in the gunfire.

Jane waited.

And waited.

Maybe it was over. He sucked in a deep breath. Soon there would be tea and warm leather, and everything would be fine.

A muffled shout cut through the silence, but Jane couldn't make out the words. Someone was hurt. Badly. A male someone. Jane desperately hoped it wasn't Rigsby or Cho. He tried to determine the directionality of the sound in comparison to the approximate location he'd last seen the other SUV in. It seemed to be coming from far away, slightly northwest, maybe—

Jane fell gracelessly backward when Lisbon's hand disappeared, and he instinctively turned to seek her out.

She checked the magazine of her gun, snapped it back into place, then looked at him. "Don't move and don't make a sound," she said in a hushed voice.

She was gone before he even realized she was leaving him here, her image a blur as she swept toward the front of the vehicle and disappeared beyond it. Jane's hand was half-raised to reach out for her, but now it dropped back to his side.

It was okay.

Everything would be fine.

Lisbon would handle this.

Jane held his breath, waiting and listening and trying to keep his imagination at bay.

The air vibrated, and the sounds it carried began to fluctuate chaotically. Cars screeched and revved. People shouted. Sirens sounded somewhere in the distance.

And then…nothing. The noise simply melted away. A quiet stillness descended. Jane could barely hear over the ringing in his ears. Somehow, the silence was louder than the noise it replaced.

Jane was torn between keeping quiet like Lisbon had asked, and calling out for some kind of indication that she was all right. It only took a moment's hesitation for him to mentally override what he _should_ do with what needed to be done.

"Lisbon?" he shouted, his own voice oddly muffled, as though the air was too tired now to carry it.

He should check on her, Jane decided. But she told him not to move, so maybe he shouldn't. Of course, that had never stopped him before, and there was no sense in choosing now to start paying attention to directions. Carefully, he inched toward the bumper and glanced past it, ready to bolt or duck if necessary.

There was a man lying prone, half-on and half-off the road, and another several feet to the left, but no one he recognized. This was promising. Very, very, very promising…

He crawled forward a bit more, his confidence increasing marginally for every moment that he wasn't getting shot.

The air was thick and hazy. It weighed heavily in his lungs. Jane shifted until he had a better view of the road, watchful for signs of movement, but finding none. He stood up slowly, senses alert, eyes scanning—

Jane's heart sank when he saw her lying on road on the other side of the SUV.

Lisbon was only a few feet away, but the distance suddenly felt like miles. Jane rushed toward her, stumbling, trying to call out her name, but his throat seized with the effort.

She was sprawled awkwardly on the asphalt, her hair tousled, one arm lying across her stomach, her eyes closed.

There was blood.

This was all wrong.

There couldn't be blood. She was wearing a vest. It didn't make any sense. It didn't…

Jane kneeled beside her. The blood that shouldn't have been there seeped warmly into the fabric of his pants. Lisbon's blood. God, there was so much. How was he going to get it all back in her? This didn't make _sense_.

He reached out to touch her. She seemed so calm. And here his hands were shaking and the tips of his fingers ached—_everything_ ached—when he was supposed to be helping, doing…something. There should be ambulances by now—didn't they know they needed to fix her? There should be…there should…

Jane dropped down, sitting next to her with blood staining his hands, and he _remembered_ this. This exact sensation, like the earth was splitting open under him, ripping everything away, but always leaving him behind.

He held his breath until his lungs burned.

She didn't breathe at all.

…


	2. Two: Smoke and Iron

…

**Two: Smoke and Iron**

_Fire_.

Yes, that was almost certainly the scent of burning-house wafting down the stairs. It smelled like pine trees and Christmas, which was odd, since the house was clearly oak, and it was the middle of February.

Jane huffed, fumbled, huffed again.

Even though some assistance might have been nice, he was a little grateful that there was no one around to see this. It was getting embarrassing.

Handcuffs were his forte. Ropes he could deal with, sure. But those little plastic zip-tie things? _Who_ would invent something so infuriating?

Just as he'd nearly managed to break through the teeny tiny pin between his wrists with an equally teeny tiny nail he'd spent a good ten minutes prying out of the wall, the nail slipped from his grasp.

His hands were apparently fed up with the lack of blood flow, and swollen fingers were not dexterous fingers, to be sure.

As the plastic cut into his skin, it suddenly occurred to him just how _important_ his hands were. Jane had watched a medical documentary on gangrene just the other night and, okay, so maybe this wasn't quite gangrene yet, but it _could_ be. He couldn't lose his hands. How would he perform card tricks for Lisbon? How would he put a bullet through Red John's skull? Oh god. He _needed_ them.

With renewed vigor, Jane shifted and bent and writhed until he'd recaptured the fallen nail and lodged it securely between his teeth.

The smoke was getting thick.

There was no time to waste. Red John had a twenty minute head start. If he got out now, Jane might still be able to catch up to him—and with the burning and the smoke and the possibility of the upper floors collapsing on him, Jane could quite possibly die here and, well...he didn't have time for that right now. Not when he was so close to finally, _finally_ killing the man who took his family from him.

There was a teeny tiny _ping_ as the pin snapped under Jane's ministrations and skittered across the concrete. With a relieved sigh, Jane started prying the plastic from his wrists and disentangling himself from the low pipe he'd been hooked to.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

He recognized them instantly, even before he heard her voice.

"Jane?" Lisbon shouted. A cloud of thick grey smoke followed her down.

"Lisbon!" Jane emphatically greeted, rubbing his wrists. "So good to see you found the place. Quite a drive, isn't it?"

"What the hell are—" Lisbon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared at Jane's current predicament: iron bars. They boxed him in on two sides, separating him from the rest of the basement and, consequently, the exit. They were next on his increasingly long list of things to deal with.

Lisbon's eyebrow arched.

Jane beamed.

Lisbon holstered her gun and rushed toward the bars, immediately wrenching on the door.

She seemed flustered.

"Are you hurt?" Lisbon asked in her authoritative business-voice. A hint of fear slid beneath her words, betraying her worry and eliciting a peculiar warmth in Jane's chest that had nothing to do with the fire.

He started toward her when movement caught his eye, and that soft warm feeling plummeted into cold dread.

Everything snapped together in his mind with brutal clarity as Jane realized that at some point along the way he'd underestimated the fathomless depths of sadism Red John was capable of.

He hadn't left.

Red John had stayed in a burning building that was soon to be teeming with cops, at the risk of his own life, just waiting for this moment, this opportunity to break Jane one last time.

Jane tried to warn her, tried to reach her, but somewhere in the borderlands of his analytical mind, Jane already knew how this ended. The fear weighed him down. The floor beneath him seemed to melt in the heat, leaving him to trudge through sticky wet cement, and all he could do was watch it happen.

Lisbon turned with her hand poised to reach for her gun as Red John slammed her back into the bars, and already the blade was buried in her.

Once. Twice. By the third time the knife sank in, Jane's shaking hand was wrapped around Lisbon's gun through the bars as she slid down them.

After years and years of hunting, Jane finally had his shot.

He took it.

Red John fell to the floor, his eyes wide and unseeing. Lisbon slumped over.

Smoke stung Jane's eyes and left a greasy film on his skin. He dropped the gun.

Jane's mind spun, cascading through the entire colorful spectrum of human emotion before settling on a grey and hazy shock.

He picked the lock.

Kneeling beside her, Jane mechanically reached out to search for the flutter of her pulse. The flames crawled down the stairs.

Blood leaked through Lisbon's vest.

Jane gathered her up, shifting them both into a sitting position, because Lisbon was never the type to just fall without lifting herself back up.

She'd be mad if she knew he was doing the lifting on her behalf.

She'd be even madder if he stayed here with her.

But Jane had always liked making her mad.

…


	3. Three: Submerge

…

**Three: Submerge**

Lisbon was furious.

In a bizarre and inexplicable turn of events, she was the one who had ended up with a strip of duct tape over her mouth, instead of Jane.

It was unnerving, taking on her role as negotiator. Jane had gotten so used to being on the receiving end of the duct tape, he'd started to take the position for granted—and it wasn't like he hadn't been a nuisance to their captors, but in the end it was Lisbon's succinct and disdainful, "Go fuck yourself," in response to a threat against her team, that sealed the deal. Although breaking that one guy's arm may have had something to do with it, too.

None of this stopped her from glaring, naturally, and she was doing a fine job of it. Lisbon didn't need the words to convey the sentiment, so the tape was really rather pointless.

The shorter man turned to his comrade in exasperation. "Why won't she stop looking at me like that?"

A longsuffering sigh came from said comrade. "Randy, for Christ's sake, just go wait outside."

"Why should I? You're just going to let this bitch talk shit about the boss, is that it? Needs to be taught some respect."

At this Lisbon's eyebrow quirked up, as if in challenge. Oh yes, that was definitely a challenge. Damn it. She was being very uncooperative today.

"Now, now," Jane cautioned. "Let's not be hasty. We're all adults here. We can work something out."

Everyone ignored him. Jane really hated being ignored.

A number of people stood in the room, milling about and leaning against the walls. He'd counted six when they entered, but at least two more had filed in since, and he couldn't get a good glimpse of the people behind him.

"Randy, leave."

Randy looked like he was going to resist, but after a moment he shrugged and said, "Fine. Whatever."

The door slammed pointedly behind him.

Already, Jane was relieved. Randy was an unpleasant man. Jane didn't trust him. He had that loose-cannon look in his eyes that never bodes well.

Negotiating. Jane could do that. Sure. Easy. Just establish some rapport and go from there.

"What's your name?" Jane asked no one in particular, but he focused on the older man who kicked Randy out. He seemed sensible, and clearly held a position of power. When no one answered, Jane offered, "I'm Jane. Patrick Jane. This here is my colleague, Teresa Lisbon." He nodded in Lisbon's direction.

She didn't seem to notice. The glaring continued unabated.

The older man moved to stand in front of Jane. "I know who you are."

"Right. Of course you do. Silly me," Jane said.

Fingers gripped Jane's shoulder.

Jane's efforts to free his hands from the thin yellow rope binding his wrists had been seriously hindered by all the attention his captors had kept fixed on him. Oh, he could do it, sure. Problem was, he didn't know what he'd be able to accomplish if he did. They would undoubtedly shoot him before he had the chance to take action.

Still, he had to try. Jane wiggled his hands a bit, pulling at the rope while trying to be covert about it.

"You," the older man said, pointing at Jane. Jane stilled. "You're wasting my time. The only way you and your partner are walking out of here is if I get the information I need."

Lies. Always with the lies.

Jane sighed inwardly.

They hadn't even bothered to wear masks. Jane knew there would be no simple 'walking out' in the near future.

He'd have to stall them long enough for the team to track them down.

"Sure," Jane agreed easily, "whatever you want. We're more than willing to help out with your…cause. Right, Lisbon?" Jane said.

Lisbon turned her glare to Jane, offering an angry little, "Mmf."

This was getting ridiculous.

Jane looked up at the man. "Uh, sometimes it's hard to tell with her, but I assure you she agrees wholeheartedly."

The man frowned. "What is wrong with you people? You're supposed to be cops?"

"Actually, I'm just a consultant. I consult. They don't even let me carry a gun." Not that he wanted to carry a gun, but in hindsight, he kind of wished he had. The man clearly could not care less what Jane's job description was, so Jane continued hastily, "Look, it doesn't matter. The important thing here is that we aren't your enemies."

The man's lips twitched into a smirk. "You trying to say you're allies, then?"

"Yeah. Well, more like an impassive third party, really. Just passing through." Jane worked the ropes with his fingers, beginning to feel them loosen.

The man crossed his arms. "I have it on good authority that you two know the whereabouts of the boss' money. She would like it back."

Money? Authority? Jane was beginning to suspect that this had nothing to do with the case. Someone was setting them up.

Jane nodded slowly, going with it. "Money. Right. Could you be a little more specific?"

"Don't play games with me, Mr. Jane."

There were an awful lot of guns in the room. More guns than people.

"Oh, no games, none whatsoever. It's just that I'm really not sure what money you're talking about."

Lisbon started tugging visibly at her own ropes, providing some excellent misdirection for Jane. He worked at the ropes, felt the blood rush back into his hand as they slackened.

When the barrel of a gun pressed into her temple, Lisbon stilled. So did Jane.

Nausea twisted in his stomach. Jane swallowed.

"Hmm," someone grunted. "Figures it would come to this. Cops are always stubborn."

"Like I said: consultant," Jane reiterated. "Not a cop. No stubbornness here. Come on, let's just take it easy and put the guns down. This is a simple business transaction, right? Guns are really not conducive to good business, you know. Now _tea_, on the other hand—very conductive. You wouldn't happen to have some lying around, would you?"

With a confused look to her superior, the woman holding the gun to Lisbon's head slowly lowered it.

Jane returned his attention to the task at hand. "So no tea, then? That's too bad. But, hey, no worries. Who, ah, was this 'authority,' anyway?"

This was clearly the wrong thing to ask.

The man scowled, his countenance shifting from neutral to threatening with impressive speed. "You are in no position to be asking me questions. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about." He glanced at his watch and grumbled before adding, "I don't care for games, personally. But my good friends here get a kick out of them. I've got some things to attend to. Rick, take care of our guests. You'll keep them entertained, won't you Mr. Jane?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

When the man left, those remaining in the room turned to stare at Jane, presumably expecting some sort of entertainment—which Jane could do. Entertainment. Absolutely. A little advanced notice would have been nice, but he could improvise.

"Uh, hi," Jane said to a particularly intimidating looking man standing between him and Lisbon. "You like card tricks?"

"No."

"Magic? Everybody likes magic." Jane grinned winningly.

"He's got a different game in mind, don'cha?" the one Jane assumed to be Rick said, stepping into Jane's line of vision as he stalked across the room. Rick stopped next to a large steel tub. "Bring them over here, will you?"

Suddenly they were both being dragged, still strapped to their respective chairs. The legs of Jane's chair slammed loudly against the concrete as the hands released him.

Lisbon's ropes were being untied.

Jane wondered if they'd really thought that through. Probably not.

She slipped from their grasp immediately, ripping the duct tape from her mouth.

And she was pissed.

Lisbon grabbed a hold of the chair and spun toward the woman who'd held the gun on her. The wood splintered on impact. The woman fell.

Lisbon was unphased.

Jane started tearing frantically at the ropes binding him.

That's when he heard it. The jarring _click_ and _snap_ of a gun being cocked next to his ear.

Everything stopped. Including Lisbon.

Sharp red nails dug into his jaw, holding him still, as though he could do anything else.

"Take one more step and I will blow your pretty little boyfriend's brains out."

"Get your hands off of him," Lisbon demanded, voice low, dangerous, not-to-be-fucked-with.

He'd rarely seen this degree of barely-restrained fury from her before, but she didn't move, and his brains weren't being blown out.

A flash of movement caught his attention, and he couldn't even get a warning out before a broken piece of wood crashed into Lisbon's skull.

She dropped to her knees, wavering and dazed, as two others grabbed hold of her. This time they were careful to tie her hands behind her back.

The woman Lisbon had hit with the chair looked on smugly.

The ropes bit into Jane's wrists as the other woman tightened them.

"Now, where were we?" Rick asked.

They dragged her, still struggling, to the edge of the tub. Light glistened off the surface of the water inside.

Jane's breath caught in his throat.

He had to stop this.

"Wait, wait. Why does she get to play?" Jane asked. "She really hates games, you know. She's no fun at all." He glanced over at her. She blinked rapidly, but seemed to be recovering quickly from the disorientation. "Sorry Lisbon, but you know it's true."

"Don't worry Mr. Jane, you get to play, too," Rick promised.

"Oh. Good."

Rick leaned casually against the wall adjacent to the tub. "Boss doesn't like you very much, Mr. Jane. Says you got a grudge against her."

A grudge? Someone who didn't like him? Well, that didn't narrow it down at all.

"Me? Nope, no grudges," Jane denied. "It's just water under the bridge, I always say. Forgive and forget, and all that. And who did you say your boss was again?"

"Boss also said it was mutual. I think she'd want you to play first. What do you say?"

"Oh, sure. Yeah, I'll go first. I love games. I've got this one magic trick I think you'd find _delightful_. The audience goes crazy every—"

Rick nodded to one of the men standing over Lisbon. "Put her in."

"I thought you said I got to go first?"

"You do. You get to watch. It's better this way, trust me. You're gonna love this."

Water splashed onto the floor as her head was pushed beneath the surface. Lisbon struggled wildly, landing a kick and an, "Ah, shit! Hold her down!"

She could do this, Jane reminded himself. She'd taken a breath. She could hold it. This was Lisbon, she'd be fine.

Jane just had to stop this before things got out of hand. Hold them off for a bit, give the team time to get here. "You don't have to do this. You want money? I've got lots of it. Tons. Just name your price, and we can all go home. What do you say?"

Rick scoffed. "Boss doesn't want _your_ money. She wants _her_ money."

The water licked at the rim of the tub, small waves rippling through it as her struggle slowed.

Too much time was passing.

"Oh, _that_ money. Sure, I know where it is. I'll take you right to it," Jane said.

"Not good enough, Mr. Jane."

Too much time.

"Downtown," Jane declared. "Fifteenth street. The—the building on the corner, beside that sushi place. Apartment twelve. I know a guy who knows a guy who says that's where it's being kept."

Rick didn't even look at him. "Liar."

"No, I'm not lying," Jane lied. "Apartment twelve. It's there. I told you, I told you!"

Rick waved a hand at his colleagues. The sound of frantic coughing and gasping breaths immediately followed. The relief that awful noise brought was overwhelming.

"Fifteenth street?" Rick asked.

Jane nodded convincingly.

He had no goddamn idea where the money was, who it belonged to, or what the hell was going on. None.

"You're up, Charles. Find Randy and check it out." Rick turned to Jane. "You better hope it's there."

It wasn't.

…

"I—I can help you find it. I'm really good at finding things," Jane said. "That's pretty much my entire job description. And I'm good at my job. _Really_ good." He tried to stand up, but was pushed back down again.

"You lied to me, Mr. Jane."

"No, I didn't, I swear I didn't. It was there. Someone must have moved it."

Water pooled on the concrete beneath Jane's shoes. They'd had to refill the tub twice, and she was still thrashing beneath the surface.

The team should have been here by now.

Jane had managed to get his hands untied twice, and lasted all of five seconds before getting tied up again. But if he could just—

"Add another twenty seconds," Rick instructed.

Jane's jaw clenched. His tenuous grasp on self-control was slipping. He couldn't afford to lose that. He couldn't afford to lose _her_.

"Stop," Jane demanded. "Stop it. That's enough. She's had her turn with the water. It's my turn now. It's only fair."

"You don't get to decide that. Your partner does."

Jane's eyes widened. "What?"

Another hand wave, more frenzied choking sounds. Rick waited until Lisbon had calmed enough to be semi-coherent before leaning down and asking her, "What do you think, sweetheart? Should we give Mr. Jane here a turn?"

Lisbon's bloodshot eyes clenched shut as the coughing and gasping continued haltingly. Water dripped from the loose strands of her hair.

She shook her head.

Rick shrugged. "If you say so."

Jane's eyes snapped to Rick's. "She doesn't mean that. Lisbon, you don't mean that."

"Anytime, sweetheart," Rick offered with an entertained smirk. "Just say the word."

Jane held his breath, desperation clawing at his insides.

He knew her. There was a very real possibility that she'd do something incredibly stupid like play hero right now.

If he was being honest with himself, he already knew her answer.

Maybe just this once she'd give in. Just _once_. She had to.

After several deep breaths, Lisbon managed to force out a raspy, "No."

This was unacceptable.

He wasn't about to sit here and watch her drown, didn't she understand that?

She wasn't making any sense.

He needed Rick to see this, to see that these rules were arbitrary and this choice couldn't be left up to her. "You can't listen to her. She—she doesn't know what she's saying. With the water—and, and the oxygen deprivation, clearly she's too confused to be—"

"You feel confused, darlin'? Wanna see if your boy here can beat your time?"

"No," she repeated, her voice impossibly hoarse. "It's still my turn."

Logic. Logic would work, wouldn't it? Lisbon loved logic. "Lisbon, think about this. I can hold my breath just fine, and your lungs can't take much more of this. You do _require_ oxygen, whether you're willing to admit it or not. We'll have more time this way. I'll be okay. I promise. Just tell them to stop."

"You sure about that, Mr. Jane?" Rick asked. "There are rules to this game. You'll be starting at her best time, and it'll only go up. Think you can outlast your partner? She seems a lot tougher than you."

Jane refused to take his gaze away from hers. He would make her understand, damn it.

"I can handle it. Lisbon, _please_. Be reasonable."

She swallowed, cringing at the motion. Her clothes were soaked. She had to be freezing.

Her skin was so pale, it hurt to look at her.

"I'm so sorry, Jane," Lisbon whispered.

Jane sighed in relief.

_Finally_.

She was listening to reason.

He smiled at her—a smile reserved for her, only.

"It's okay," Jane told her, "it is. You are completely, one hundred percent forgiven. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

"I'm sorry, Jane," she repeated. "But you don't get to play."

Jane's heart sank.

His smile went with it.

"Lisb—"

"That a no?" Rick asked.

"That's a no," she confirmed.

"Teresa, _please_," Jane said, desperation fracturing his voice as the words scraped like shards of broken glass in his throat. "Please don't make me watch this anymore."

She looked away, shaking her head again.

"All right," Rick said, nodding to his comrades. "Six minutes."

She lasted four, and the water stopped splashing.

…


	4. Four: Loose Ends

…

**Four: Loose Ends**

Patrick Jane was drowning in anticipation.

It was everything he could do just to keep his head above water, keep focused, keep calm.

Jane had never been so _ready_.

Ready to kill.

Ready to die.

Ready to finally end this.

It had taken him exactly three weeks to fall off the face of the earth.

It was an ingenious plot, really. He'd be boasting about it right now, if he had anyone to boast to. But then, that was the whole point, wasn't it? House, car, possessions, job; everything was gone, wrapped up, taken care of, written off, and it was just as easy as taking out the trash—which, incidentally, he also did.

There was, of course, one loose end to worry about.

It couldn't be helped.

Jane was fiercely clever, but Lisbon was just as fiercely determined. Though he hated to admit it, there was no way of stopping her from getting what she wanted.

Oh, he'd tried. Jane went so far as to personally resign from his position as CBI consultant with Hightower's boss' boss, and promptly booked himself a flight to Italy for an 'extended vacation' on which he was not to be disturbed.

Jane knew she'd figure out what he was up to eventually, but she'd have no grounds to file a missing person's report or set up a search party, so CBI resources would most definitely not be at her disposal. He'd even tried extra hard to piss her off lately, and succeeded admirably, thereby theoretically making her less inclined to come after him.

He knew this wouldn't hold her back for long, because this was Lisbon and she was, well, _Lisbon_. But it didn't matter anymore. He didn't need a lot of time, just a little more.

Soon enough, he'd be finished with what he started, and if she managed to track him down after that, all she'd find were the bodies. Two of them. Because he'd known for a long time that neither he nor Red John would go down without taking the other with them. Theirs was a bond that could not be broken.

He took a deep, even breath. Jane was so ready that his fingers ached. He wrapped them tightly around the gun in his hands as he followed the tiny splatters of blood that shone on the concrete.

It was almost certainly a trap.

The drops were never more than a foot apart, so he couldn't possibly miss them or wander off course. Jane followed them anyway.

There was one aspect of humanity that Red John retained and Jane didn't: survival instinct. The absence of that innate compulsion to preserve one's own life, to fight or run, to swerve out of the way of oncoming traffic or remove one's hand from a hot oven burner, _that_ was where Jane's true advantage lied.

Jane had nothing to lose.

That was the greatest weapon he had over his opponent, and he had every intention of exploiting it.

Even dealers of death were afraid to die. Red John was no exception, Jane knew.

The coward had proven that when he took off running with a bullet in his shoulder and blood spilling down his arm. In that split-second after the shot made contact, Jane saw the realization flash in Red John's eyes: gods could bleed.

They could die, too, and Jane was so looking forward to illustrating this fact. He wouldn't miss twice.

Jane reached the end of the hall, now at the juncture of the office space and the open warehouse floor. He pressed his back against the cold wall and waited, listening.

_There_.

Movement.

The lightest shuffling sound reached his ears. Jane concentrated. It was coming from his right—twenty, maybe twenty-five feet from the entrance.

He had to act fast. He wasn't letting Red John leave. They weren't finished here. Not until they were both dead.

Jane inched forward, glancing in the direction of the noise and scanning the area.

He led with his gun, ready to aim, ready to fire, just _ready_.

Red John's darkened shape darted past a window, cutting through the dim glow of streetlights and drawing Jane's eyes directly to him.

One glimpse, one lightning-fast calculation, and that was all it took.

His index finger tightened automatically, and a bullet ripped out of the gun with a resounding _bang_.

The figure fell, now no more than a small heap on the floor.

Too small, Jane realized suddenly.

A paralyzing doubt seized him.

He stared into the darkness of the warehouse until a soft gasp snapped him out of his daze.

Recognition hit him hard.

Panic followed.

Jane bolted across the room.

Lisbon _couldn't_ be here, couldn't possibly have found him, not this soon, she couldn't—

"Jane?"

Oh god.

He dropped down next to her, legs no longer willing to hold him up, panting and gasping more than she was. "Lisbon, wha—why, _why_ are you here?"

She blinked. Slowly.

Her lips quirked into a small smile. She seemed relieved to see him. He didn't know what that meant. Lisbon must not have realized that he had been the one to pull the trigger. Unless she _did_…and…

But maybe—maybe she was okay. Of course. She had to be. Jane unzipped her leather jacket with unsteady hands to assess the damage. He'd missed once, maybe…

She wasn't okay.

Jane was wrong. He had _everything_ to lose.

"I…" Jane trailed off when he noticed that her eyes were closed. "Lisbon?"

His mind flooded with all the things he _needed_ to say to her, the things he needed her to know, and Jane wondered if maybe he hadn't been as ready as he'd believed.

Jane called to her again and again and again, but she wouldn't wake up. By the time a bullet cut through his thoughts and he remembered they weren't alone, it was already too late.

He had been so _close_.

…


	5. Five: Trust Fall

…

**Five: Trust Fall**

"We'll have to get another warrant to search the rest of the property. There's something in there, I'm sure of it." Lisbon sighed pointedly as they walked. "You know, I was _this_ close," she started, indicating her perceived measure of closeness with her index finger and thumb, which by Jane's estimation was a completely unjustified exaggeration, "to convincing him to just let us look in the barn. But _no_. Nope, you just had to keep pushing his buttons until you'd found them all, didn't you?"

Jane shielded his eyes against the blinding sunlight. He stepped over a few protruding rocks in the field as they moved toward the barn.

There was just something about complete honesty that people never seemed to appreciate. It was their loss. If anything, the man should be thanking Jane for informing him of his wife's infidelity and reassuring him that erectile dysfunction was nothing to be ashamed of.

"I resent the implication that I've compromised your persuasive abilities, Lisbon."

"No you don't," she replied with a genuine chuckle and an adorable little half-smile.

"No, I don't," Jane admitted.

"I'm just saying, maybe next time you can use a _little_ self-restraint. That's all I'm asking for. Just enough to refrain from telling our suspects that they are—how did you put it? Ah, yes, 'the unfortunate result of inbreeding.' That's really never appropriate to bring up in polite conversation."

Oh yes, and there was that part. Jane grinned, thoroughly pleased with himself. In his defense, the man walked right into it. "Too far?" he asked.

The look Jane received suggested that the answer was much too obvious to dignify with a response.

"Duly noted," Jane said. "Won't happen again."

"Yes it will." He could still hear the smile in her voice.

She knew him too well, Jane decided. This wouldn't do at all. He'd have to start coming up with more creative ways to surprise her, keep her guessing. "Yes, it probably will," Jane concurred. "Is that really all the punishment I get? A don't-do-it-again speech?"

"You _want_ me to punish you?" Lisbon threatened with a hint of incredulity as they trekked through the long grass. The brittle stalks rustled and splintered beneath their feet.

Jane pretended to think about it while looking her over appreciatively and exhibiting one of his most charming smiles. "Well, I wouldn't say no," he flirted.

Much to Jane's delight, Lisbon ducked her head and laughed, slapping him lightly on the arm as she said, "Shut up, Jane."

All right, now his curiosity was officially piqued. "You know, you are in a suspiciously good mood today."

Lisbon shrugged, the grin still playing on her lips. Very suspicious indeed.

"It's because they fixed the coffee machine, isn't it?" he asked.

"Nuh-uh," she denied. Her tone was—dare he say it—verging on playful. Definitely more than coffee-happy.

Oh, he was going to enjoy this.

"Bigger than coffee, hey? Hmm. Why Lisbon, I'm beginning to suspect you've obtained a gentleman caller," he teased, earning an immediate and very gratifying blush. "Who's the lucky guy? Oh! Don't tell me! It's the new intern on the first floor, isn't it?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No?" Jane tilted his head, scrutinizing the nuances of her body language. "It's not that security guard who keeps making puppy-eyes at you, is it? Please tell me it isn't."

"Puppy-eyes? No. No puppy-eyes, no gentleman caller. Can't I just be in a good mood?"

Lisbon was avoiding eye-contact. Interesting. So she _was_ hiding something. And she knew he'd find out if she slipped up. She never was any good at hiding things. Jane kind of loved that about her.

"Well, I suppose you can," Jane allowed. There was no way he was letting this go, but he did enjoy lulling her into a false sense of security every once and a while. "I'm certainly not complaining."

"Good."

They reached the edge of the field. The greenish-yellow grass gradually gave way to the compacted dirt that surrounded the barn. What Jane assumed were farm tools were scattered about, some more intimidating than others.

Sunlight glinted off a few of the shovels leaning against the red wood.

The carnival tent of Jane's memory palace fluttered open, and he was struck with the recollection of a day like today when the sun was high in the sky and the air had a particular scent to it—something earthy but clean. Apples. Yes, there had definitely been apples.

Jane breathed in deeply, and remembered pleading with Lisbon to trust him enough to let him catch her. The sky had been clear, her fingers had been stained red from the strawberries, and the wind had left a slight chill on his skin.

He had teased and prodded. She had scoffed and rebuked. But they both knew she'd give in eventually, if only to shut him up.

Lisbon had been lighter than he'd expected, too. He remembered liking the feel of her in his arms more than he should have, and brushing it off, because honestly, who wouldn't like that? The trust fall was a silly game anyway—meaningless, except with her nothing was ever completely meaningless.

He'd craved Lisbon's trust, even though he knew he'd break it. That craving had never really gone away.

Jane wondered if she'd play with him again, if he asked very nicely.

They stopped in front of a set of tall, chained doors. It was…a barn. Actually, now that he thought about it, the place looked even less interesting up close. At least from the porch it had an air of mystery about it. Now, it just looked a little sad and decrepit.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Jane said, "but I don't think you're going to find anything noteworthy here. It won't be worth the time it takes to get the warrant."

"You don't know that for sure. There could be something important they're trying to conceal in there. Why else would the doors be chained up?"

Lisbon looked up at the barn. The view left something to be desired, so Jane looked over at Lisbon instead. "Seemed a lot smaller from the house, didn't it?" Jane said.

Lisbon merely nodded.

"Oh, I know!" Jane's enthusiasm effectively snapped Lisbon's attention back to him. "It's that guy at the coffee shop, isn't it? Oh, it is! Of course it is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"A gentleman caller who sells coffee. It's the perfect match." Jane paused in thought. "Although…you didn't need to go out for coffee this morning. You didn't even leave the office until this afternoon with me. And you know we aren't going to make it back to Sacramento in time for a date tonight. So what makes today so special?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" She peeked through a crack in the door, standing on her toes to get a good angle.

"You're just messing with me now, aren't you?"

"Maybe. Usually doesn't take you this long to figure something out. Losing your touch?"

Jane scoffed. "Of course not. I was only trying to be nice and let you think you were able to keep secrets from me—which, obviously, you are not."

"Uh-huh," she muttered skeptically. "I'm sure." Lisbon turned to him. "Cho should really be here by now. Something must have come up. Maybe we should…" Lisbon trailed off with a frown.

Her gaze settled intently on something off to his right. Jane glanced beside him, confused by her sudden shift in expression, but saw only the line of shovels. "Lisbon? Are you—"

Lisbon's eyes widened.

She bolted forward, and suddenly Jane was on the ground with the wind knocked out of him and a vague sense of being barreled over by a very small but formidable train.

A sharp _ping_ fractured the late-summer air where his head had been.

The shovels clattered to the ground.

"Jane, stay down," she whispered harshly, reaching for her gun and disentangling herself from him. He coughed, cringing at the taste of dirt in his mouth.

Lisbon, being Lisbon, took off in the direction of the danger as if by instinct, and Jane had to wonder if it really was something deep and innate that propelled her to do these things.

There was no cover. Not without running all the way behind the massive barn, and he knew better than to risk it. There were guns involved, and if nothing else, guns had a tendency to encourage Jane's compliance.

He stayed low and grabbed a shovel to defend himself with. It was woefully inadequate for the job, he knew. But it was something.

It was then he realized what Lisbon had been staring at. Maybe he really was losing his touch. Jane caught his own dirt-smeared reflection in the metal. Intrigued, he adjusted the angle, lifting it a little higher off the ground until he could see the action.

Lisbon was standing in the field, the gold and green grass reaching up to her knees, her gun drawn. She was not far from a figure whose slight and lanky frame suggested that he must be the suspect's teenage son, whom Jane had only seen in pictures. He held his ground, just as Lisbon held hers.

Jane could hear her then, as calm and steady as the breeze that rustled the grass, as she tried to talk the boy down.

Jane debated whether or not his help would actually be very helpful right now. On the one hand, his voice was a far more reliable weapon than a shovel, and he could talk his way out of anything. On the other hand, there were guns.

After careful deliberation, Jane decided to go for it.

He left the shovel behind. He already had everything he needed.

Plus, he had Lisbon, and that was like having a gun, only better, since she could aim.

He'd barely gotten to his knees when the boy snapped. In the cadence of his voice Jane could hear the exact second that his tone shifted from bravado to reckless abandon, the moment that desperation sent him plummeting over the edge.

But Jane wasn't fast enough.

Shots sounded.

Two, side by side, and the noise ripped through him. The bullets, fortunately, didn't.

When Jane looked up, only one of them was left standing.

He could see the young man's thin form crumple in on itself before disappearing into the long grass. Jane immediately pushed himself up and ran out to the middle of the field to meet her.

The bright sun obscured his vision, turning Lisbon into a shadowy silhouette. She stood so still that she seemed to blend into the skyline.

Panting, Jane stopped a few feet away to catch his breath.

She lowered the gun slowly, still looking westward.

Jane swallowed. The taste of earth lingered on his tongue.

"Lisbon?" he asked, needing the confirmation of her voice.

His brow furrowed when she didn't answer.

Lisbon brought a hand to her chest and looked down. The gun slipped from her fingers, landing softly in the field.

Jane stilled.

"Oh," she whispered.

Lisbon swayed with the grass.

And as he'd always promised, Jane caught her as she fell.

…


	6. Six: And One Time He Didn't

…

**(And One Time He Didn't)**

Jane tapped his fingers rhythmically against the soft leather of his couch, pretending to stare at the book in his lap while watching Lisbon move around the bullpen and trying to force the puzzle pieces to fall in place. They weren't quite falling they way he wanted them to, and it was starting to make him anxious.

She was up to something. He could tell. Something sneaky—and not in a good way. It was…disconcerting.

Lisbon had been avoiding him all week. The office was unbearably dull when she ignored him, and a bored Jane was a restless Jane.

He pursed his lips, wondering if he'd done something to upset her lately—and okay, _of course_ he had. Jane had made a list and everything, totaling twenty-five items over the last ten days, none of which warranted this degree of avoidance.

Well, maybe a couple did. But he'd just made her angry, not _unhappy_. This was definitely unhappy-avoidance.

A little reconnaissance was in order.

Jane shut the book and set it next to him on the couch as Lisbon slipped back into her office.

He followed. The door was partly ajar. Just enough for him to get a good view.

Lisbon's shoulders were slouched as she read over some paperwork while fidgeting with a pencil.

Her eyes squinted a bit, like she had a headache and too little sleep. He'd counted three cups of coffee so far this morning, and it looked like she was currently nursing the fourth.

Most disturbingly, her shirt was miss-buttoned.

Interesting. Stressed, headachy, not sleeping. Could it be—

"What do you want, Jane?" Lisbon asked without glancing up.

Pride swelled in his chest. Jane smiled. "You caught me. I'm impressed."

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, because acknowledgment was as good as an invitation, really.

"You aren't _that_ stealthy."

"Come on now, Lisbon. Don't sell yourself short."

She looked up at him. "Jane, if you need something, make it fast. I'm busy."

"How's the burn?" he asked. Jane tilted his head, assessing the red stain on the back of her hand. The coffee machine had fought valiantly, but in the end, it was worse off than Lisbon. She walked away with a minor steam burn. The coffee machine had to be taken away in pieces by maintenance.

Lisbon frowned and pulled back, moving her left hand to her lap and out of his line of sight.

"Fine. Is that all?"

Jane considered this. "Well, the office is a little stuffy and overcrowded right now with all the janitorial staff cleaning up that mess—the one made by somebody who is most certainly not me," he clarified. "I was on my couch the entire time. Mostly. But it's stuffy in here, so let's go out. We can get some fresh air and a bite to eat."

"Not hungry." Her attention returned to her paperwork.

"You've only had that awful little zero-calorie-fat-free yogurt thing all day, of course you're hungry," Jane countered.

"Too busy."

"But—"

"Ah, listen Jane," Lisbon said, glancing at her phone as it vibrated on her desk. She put her pencil down and stood up. "I've gotta go. We'll do lunch tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's Saturday," he reminded her, futilely, since she'd probably still be here anyway. Honestly, so would he.

She shrugged her jacket on. "Fine, Monday, whatever. I really do need to leave now."

Jane nodded understandingly, following her out of her office. A road trip would be just as good—better, even. Jane loved getting out in the field. "Where are we going? I thought we didn't have any cases."

"_I_ am going to follow up on a lead. _You_ are staying here with Rigsby. I won't be gone long."

The injustice of it all left him gaping. "With _Rigsby_? Why don't I get to come?"

Lisbon huffed. "It's nothing important. And Rigsby…needs your help on things. Office things. In the office."

Jane raised an eyebrow. "That is a disappointingly flimsy excuse, Lisbon. It's like you aren't even trying."

She stepped into the elevator. "I'll see you later this afternoon. Goodbye, Jane." The elevator dinged as the doors started to close, but Lisbon's hand shot out to hold them open. "And don't wander off. Or break anything…else," she added. "Just…just stay on your couch. I'll be back soon."

The elevator doors slid shut, leaving Jane stuck in the office. Again.

He briefly considered following her, just for fun, but eventually decided against it. Jane returned to his couch—and not because she told him to. He did it because _he_ wanted to, that was all.

Jane stretched, settling into the familiar embrace of the cushions.

He had to admit, he was worried. Lisbon just wasn't herself lately. She'd always been very direct about ignoring him when she thought he needed ignoring, but it was rare that she _pretended_ not to be avoiding him.

Jane leaned his head back, closing his eyes.

Could her problem be that she wasn't sleeping? Hmm. Something was keeping her awake. Last week had been rough on everyone—maybe she'd taken it harder than she let on.

Nightmares, perhaps?

No. He was probably just projecting his own issues onto her.

In fact, it was entirely possible that Jane was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Yeah. That was it. Nothing to worry about. She'd be fine.

…

She was not fine.

"You fell?" Jane asked.

"I fell," Lisbon confirmed.

"_You_ fell?"

"Honestly, Jane, these things happen, okay? Let it go. Can't a person fall once in a while without getting the third degree? Jeez."

"Okay, okay. But, fell _how_, exactly?"

Jane frowned intently while inspecting her arm and refused to let go when she self-consciously tried to pull away. She was all bruised on one side and scratched up from the shoulder down. And she was just brushing it off, like it was nothing, just another Friday chasing down a bunch of bad guys with no backup.

It was…upsetting. Disconcerting. Upsettingly disconcerting. Jane didn't like this new development _at all_.

Lisbon sighed, rolling her eyes. "The platform was only, I don't know, eight or ten feet up. It was slippery. There were wooden crates at the bottom. It really wasn't a big deal. Looks worse than it is."

"Mmhmm," Jane replied, unconvinced.

She tugged again, pursing her lips, as if her not-so-subtle little social cues were going to force him into submission. Surely she knew him better than that.

He noted absently that Lisbon was getting uncomfortable with his prying. That was too bad for her, since he wasn't about to stop. She'd been acting this way all week, and only saw fit to avoid _him_, specifically. There was something wrong, and she was going to talk about it whether she liked it or not.

"There are slivers," he pointed out, his frown deepening.

"Yeah. I noticed that." She started fidgeting with her free hand, drumming her fingers against the desk.

"I know you didn't let the EMTs take a look at you." Jane didn't even know why she bothered lying to him. She wasn't any good at it. They were both aware of that fact.

Lisbon glanced away, avoiding his eyes. "And miss this little interrogation? Never." The sarcasm dripping from her words contradicted the defeat in her posture, and this only served to increase Jane's concern.

It had taken one minute and fifteen seconds for her avoidance tactics to shift from playful and dismissive to irritable and standoffish. It wouldn't be long before she remembered that he was impervious to such strategies. Then she'd go for the hostility and tell him to get the hell out of her office.

All of this would be fine under normal circumstances.

The problem was that Lisbon wasn't actually angry with him.

If that had been the case, Jane might have just backed off and let her be, content in the knowledge that her anger had a suitable external target.

But this was different.

Lisbon was being reckless.

All that pent up anger, the latent rage simmering just beneath the surface of her calm and collected exterior—she'd started taking it out on herself. And there was a lot of it.

On Monday she'd burned her hand while exercising her frustration on the hapless coffee machine.

By Tuesday afternoon she'd gotten into what she termed a 'scuffle' with an unruly suspect, leaving the guy with six stitches along his jaw and her with a 'tiny scratch' that was more accurately defined as a split lip.

Wednesday, she was confined to the office as penalty for said scuffle, yet she still managed to tackle three people in less than an hour and get a piece of broken glass lodged in her leg. She then proceeded to 'walk it off.'

Yesterday, she'd nearly totaled the SUV while chasing down a suspected-murderer by herself on the highway while Jane was on the phone with her and helpless to do anything about it.

Lisbon huffed pointedly.

Jane almost smiled when she dropped the pretense and just pulled her arm from his grasp like she could have this whole time.

She slipped away, taking refuge behind her desk and a façade of professionalism. Lisbon shuffled some folders that didn't need shuffling. "I've got paperwork to catch up on. Shut the door, would you?"

Jane complied, stepping back and pushing her door closed before dropping onto her couch.

She glared.

"From the other side," Lisbon revised curtly.

Jane stretched. It was a very nice couch. Not as nice as his couch, but nice.

"Jane. Get the hell out of my office."

There it was. Hostility. Good. He could work with that.

"I think I'd rather stay," Jane provoked, making himself comfortable.

The glaring continued.

"Get out."

"Nah."

Her fists clenched.

"_Fine_. Fine! Stay here, see if I care." Lisbon grabbed her jacket and keys and stormed toward the door. She wrenched on the handle, shook it, shook it again, then went still. Very slowly, she asked, "Jane, what did you do to my door?"

"Hmm? Oh, that. No need to worry about that."

With a growl of frustration, Lisbon leaned her head against the glass, still halfheartedly twisting the handle. "Please just open the door, Jane?"

They'd circled all the way to petulance. This was promising.

"Is time spent in my company really so disagreeable?" he asked.

"_Yes_," she groaned.

"You don't mean that."

Lisbon glanced over at him with a quizzical expression. She sighed. "What is this about? Are you bored or something? Was Rigsby not a sufficiently entertaining babysitter today? Is this some sort of punishment for not bringing you along this week?"

Jane considered this. "Now that you mention it, the office was rather dull. And I can only pick Rigsby's pocket so many times before it stops being fun and just starts being sad. The poor guy is such an easy mark."

"Jane, you would have gotten hurt. Hell, _I_ got hurt. You would have been completely screwed. I only left you here to keep you safe."

Her voice was honest, and it occurred to Jane that her behavior may not have been solely driven by the desire to avoid a confrontation with him. This was worse than he thought. "I believe you," Jane offered seriously. "You were protecting me."

"Yes. Of course. That's my job. Now open the door. It's late. I want to go home."

"But you were also avoiding me," Jane said.

"Open the door, _please_."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Forget about the door. Sit with me." When she didn't move, he added, "Lisbon, there can really only be one person self-destructing on this team at any given time, and I've got that role filled, so I'm going to need you to concede defeat and let me patch you up."

Lisbon stared for a long moment, clearly unsure how to respond. Eventually, she settled on, "I can take care of myself."

Jane moved over on the couch, making room for her. "I know you can. But you don't have to. There are people here who care about you. _I_ care about you. We're a family, remember? You're the one who told me that." He paused, then challenged, "You weren't lying to me, were you, Lisbon?"

She frowned. "Come on, just let me out."

Lisbon seemed to think this was a possibility, if only she could convince him. How very optimistic of her. Jane leaned forward, reaching under the couch and pulling out a first-aid kit. "Not until you let me clean up that arm."

Her brow furrowed. "You're storing things underneath my couch now?"

He popped the tabs open and lifted the lid. "Where else would I keep it?"

She stared at the door handle wistfully before letting it go and dropping onto the couch beside him. "I don't need your help."

"Humor me," Jane requested.

"Do you even know first-aid?"

He tore open the packet of an antiseptic wipe. The sharp scent of alcohol hit the air. "I have many skills."

Another sigh.

Lisbon stared straight ahead. She didn't even flinch as Jane carefully removed a wooden splinter and pressed the antiseptic pad against her torn skin.

"I know why you've been avoiding me all week," Jane said.

Lisbon scoffed. "Enlighten me."

"You were worried I'd notice that you were hiding something. Justifiably so." He dropped the used antiseptic wipe onto the lid, the cloud-white now stained pink.

"I'm not hiding anything," she denied.

"Not very well," Jane agreed. "But it occurs to me now that maybe you've been concerned for my safety as well."

At this, she glanced in his direction. "I told you I was. You have a remarkable ability to get yourself into trouble, if you haven't noticed. You're like a freaking lightning rod for dangerous situations."

"More than the usual level of concern, I mean—high as that may be."

She shrugged noncommittally. "You're my responsibility. I just…" She looked away.

Jane reached for some polysporine and began smoothing it in gentle circles up her arm with his fingers.

He let her trail off for a minute before saying, "Those agents last week…it reminded you of Bosco and the others, didn't it?"

She tensed beneath his fingers, muscles drawn tight. He waited for her reaction, still tending to her arm while wondering what direction her current volatility would take her in.

It wasn't the explosion he expected. Instead, she just seemed tired.

Lisbon picked a bit of lint from the edge of her blouse with her free hand. She exhaled slowly.

"Yeah," she whispered, as though they might be overheard by the empty office on the other side of the glass windows.

Jane laid a gauze pad over one of the nastier wounds and wrapped a bandage around her upper arm to hold it in place.

"It wasn't your fault," Jane told her, because clearly someone needed to.

Lisbon shook her head, like he knew she would. "I was too late. I should have been faster. I should have been able to stop it."

"Yeah. I know the feeling."

Lisbon looked up at him, like she was seeing him for the first time, a kindred spirit in grief and loss. He felt the muscles in her arm gradually relax.

"They were colleagues," she added by way of explanation. "Good cops. And if you hadn't left the building before it happened—it was just dumb luck that you weren't with them, Jane. It's bad enough losing colleagues, but you're my…"

"Responsibility?" Jane guessed.

Her gaze fell away again, and she smiled brokenly. "You're my friend. My best friend," she admitted. "I can't lose you."

A pleasant warmth filled his chest at her admission. Jane matched her broken smile with one of his own, and squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"I guess…I'm just angry that I never seem to have any choice in the matter," Lisbon said.

Jane reached out and tilted her jaw up so she'd meet his gaze, because he needed her to know he meant it when he said, "I'm not going anywhere."

Her lips were skeptical, but her eyes were warm, and she asked him anyway, "Promise?"

He placed the lightest of kisses on her forehead.

"I promise."

For once, it didn't feel like a lie.

…

FIN


End file.
